They All Fall Down
by Mokusan
Summary: Albuquerque, New Mexico, is divided into the black west and the white east. When three students from West High are chosen to attend East High in an effort to end segregation, nothing will ever be the same.
1. Chapter 01: West

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim to own any part of the _High School Musical_ franchise.  
**Warnings:** Alternate universe; addresses issues of racism and may contain strong violence in later chapters.  
**Notes:** If addressing racist themes bothers or offends you, please do not read this story. No one is making you. This story takes place in the 2007-2008 school year, despite the plot. Also, I have no idea if there are oak trees in New Mexico, but considering all the ridiculous liberties the HSM franchise has made, I figure I've got a bit of wiggle room.

Chapter One: West

He had been six years old the first time he heard _that word_. He had been waiting for his mother to pick him up on the front steps of West Albuquerque Elementary with his favorite Superman backpack, stuffed with exactly one pencil, a giant pink eraser, and three sheets of paper. The bullies had been older, most likely in middle school, and out looking for trouble. They were also white.

Using _that word_, they told him that his kind weren't allowed to like superheroes like Superman.

When his mother had finally arrived, his backpack had been ripped in two and tossed into the mud, his pencil and eraser lost in the dirt, his papers shriveled and ruined. Later, at home, while she nursed his black eye and swollen lip, he asked her what _that word_ meant. She pursed her lips and told him to never say _that word_ again, and he listened. Eventually, he figured out exactly what it meant, but by then it no longer mattered.

Chad Danforth already hated _them_.

As he grew older, he learned that there were places he was not allowed to go, places where they would call him _that word_ and maybe even kill him. He was no coward, but venturing to the east side of Albuquerque seemed to be more trouble than it was worth. That didn't stop the other side from skipping on over to the west, their white skin pasty and pale as the moon as they harassed black neighborhoods for miles around.

The first shot was loud.

At first Chad wasn't sure he'd really heard it - he could see the blue glow of the television set peering beneath the door of his bedroom, and thought that maybe it had just been the TV, one of those cowboy movies his father liked to watch late at night when work had been particularly stressful. But when his mother appeared in the doorway of his room, frightened and harried, followed by two more loud noises, Chad knew he was wrong.

"Get down. Now."

For a moment he considered disobeying his mother, but his father gave him a stern look as he passed, gun in hand, and Chad rolled out of bed and onto the carpet, as ordered. His mother crouched beside him, holding him close, her arms not quite long enough to wrap around his large frame. Chad closed his eyes and huddled against his trembling mother, silently berating himself for not being the one to defend his family. He heard his father burst through the front door, the screen as it banged against the house, the eerie silence that followed and was always the hardest part of the entire ordeal. Chad hated the waiting. He never knew if his father would make it back inside or if he would find him on the front porch, face down in a pool of blood.

"They're gone."

Chad allowed himself to breathe as he looked up at his father and pried himself from his mother's clutches, scrambling to his feet. His father returned to the living room and Chad followed, instantly spotting the shattered window and the holes in the wall above the couch. The glass glittered on the floor like diamonds in the light of the table lamps. Chad's hands curled into fists. This wasn't fair.

His cell phone made them all jump. He answered it as his mother went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, swearing softly under her breath.

"Hello?" His voice came out angrier than he had intended, but Taylor hardly seemed to notice, her voice rushing into his ear from the other end of the line.

"_Chad! Are you all right? I heard the gun, and then– Oh God, Chad, are you all right?_"

"I'm fine," Chad said through a clenched jaw. He stared out the window to the house across the street. Taylor peered out between the curtains of the front window, nervous but searching for a visual confirmation of Chad's safety. Her eyes locked with his a moment later, and he heard her sigh with relief.

"_I was so worried! Are your parents all right? No one was hurt, were they?_"

"No, we're all fine," Chad told her, calming some as he pinched his nose and squeezed his eyes shut; he could feel a headache coming on. "Just a little shaken up, but we're fine, Taylor, honest."

"_Dad says he'll be over in the morning_," Taylor added matter-of-factly. Chad felt reassured by her tone. He always was. "_... You know why they did this, don't you?_"

"Because they hate us," Chad snarled into the phone, glaring at the glass on the floor as he spoke."Because they think we're shit and they want to kill us and–"

"_They think we're invading, Chad,_" Taylor interrupted, "_or did you already forget?_"

"I didn't forget," Chad protested. And he hadn't. He had just continued pretending it hadn't happened, because as wonderful as it was, he didn't really want it to happen. He didn't know why he'd been chosen, and he knew it was only going to end in disaster. "I wish you weren't going, Taylor."

"_Chad, I'm not going to back out. We _deserve_ this. What would they think if we changed our minds now?_"

"Why does it matter what they think?"

"_Because what they think is the reason things are the way they are. Look, Chad, you don't have to go–_"

"I'm not going to let you do this alone. I don't trust them. And... I don't– I can't let you get hurt."

He could feel her smile as he watched it form on her lips through the curtains.

"_Good night Chad. I'll see you in the morning. Stay safe._"

"Love you, Taylor."  


* * *

Chad's mother was setting out plates of eggs, bacon and toast on the kitchen table when Taylor's father arrived the following morning. It was still early – the street was bathed in a cool, pale grey as the sun struggled to rise over the trees. Chad rubbed his eyes and slid into an empty chair, shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth without so much as a glance at anything else.

"Gonna save some for the rest of us?"

Chad grunted, too tired and too hungry to form coherent sentences, and Taylor slid into the seat beside him. She put a splash of salt and pepper on her eggs, followed by a swirl of ketchup. Chad had been three the first time he'd watched her eat scrambled eggs. He still thought it was gross. She poured them both orange juice and handed him one of her two pieces of toast – it was a long standing tradition that she would be too full to finish both pieces, and that Chad and Chad alone ate what was left. He took the early offering as a sign that Taylor was impatient for something.

His prophecy proved to be true; the moment she set down her fork, Taylor turned to face him, a frown twisting down the corners of her lips.

"Chad, we need to talk."

It was Chad's turn to frown. Taylor always wanted to talk, though it was usually about something he didn't really care about (girl stuff, mostly), and she never actually said she wanted to talk, but just started doing it instead. Whatever this was, it was obviously a serious matter, and Chad wasn't so sure this was a conversation he wanted to be having.

"Okay. Let's talk."

Taylor took his hand and lead him out the backdoor of the kitchen to the porch. They sat on the edge, legs dangling over the side, still holding hands. Chad's shoes brushed against the grass, nearly touching the ground. A rusted swing set stood percariously in one corner, and a small garden lined the wooden fence on the other side. A large Oak tree hung over the fence from the house behind theirs, its branches weighted with a brilliant gold and red plume.

Chad could feel the cold of the deck seeping through his jeans. He glanced side-long at Taylor, but her expression gave nothing away; he had learned that she could be the master of deception when she wanted to, and that happened to be most of the time, or at least whenever Chad tried to figure something out.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Chad assumed she was talking about the tree, because the rest of the backyard was a far cry from being pretty, and he assumed that she would have called him handsome, at the very least. Beautiful wasn't nearly manly enough. Thankfully, he was saved from coming up with a decent reply.

"Chad, what do you think will happen on Tuesday?"

This was the conversation he had been dreading and doing his best to avoid for nearly a week. Either he'd run out of good luck, or Taylor had known what he was doing all along and had cut him some slack. It didn't matter, though; Taylor wanted to have this conversation, and they were going to have it.

"Do you really want an answer?" he said at last. She looked at him with another frown.

"Chad, I'm serious."

"So am I."

"Are you afraid?"

"No." Chad was terrified.

"I am," Taylor said, so quiet he almost didn't hear her. He tightened his grip on her hand. "I've heard so many stories..." She trailed off as she shook her head. "But this will be a good thing in the end, don't you think? We _need_ this."

"If they even lay a finger on you, we aren't going back."

"We're all people, Chad. They have so much to learn from us and we have so much to learn from them." She tugged his hand as he scoffed. "I'm serious, Chad. We're _all_ people, and if you keep up that attitude, nothing is going change."

"Tell _them_ that," he muttered. Taylor only sighed. She released his hand and stood, giving his curls a pat before returning to the house. The door shut with a gentle click behind her, and Chad was left to stare at the oak tree. The leaves were several different colors, but they all came from the same tree, were made of essentially the same things, and fell on the same ground.

Maybe Taylor was right, after all.  


* * *

It wasn't until Sunday afternoon that his mother took him shopping. Chad insisted that, at seventeen, he was more than old enough to do it on his own. His mother disagreed, stating that if she let him go gallivanting off on his own, he would buy his jeans too baggy, his shirts too long, and neglect to purchase actual supplies altogether. In an effort to make the trip more bearable, he had invited Taylor along, a mistake he should have foreseen when the idea first occurred to him. Not only did Taylor's presence make his mother's remarks even more embarrassing then usual, but he now had two women nagging and suggesting and ordering him about the department store.

He had outgrown Superman backpacks, though the poster on his wall suggested otherwise, and chose one that was deep red, sporting a million zippers both Taylor and his mother insisted he didn't need. After what felt like months, but was really only a few hours, the three stopped for ice cream on the walk home. The ice cream parlor was really a stand, situated in the park that divided East and West Albuquerque. A large oak tree stood in the center of the park. As they waited for their ice cream, Chad watched the leaves fall, red and gold, and land on the ground, east and west.

"I'm so proud of you two," Chad's mother said as they walked down the sidewalk, ice cream and waffle cones buried in their stomachs. She was in the middle, her arms linked with Taylor and Chad on either side. "You're both so brave." She wore a sad smile.

"Thank you, Mrs. Danforth," Taylor answered, white teeth flashing in the sun as she returned the smile with one of her own.

"I don't think I would have courage to go to that school," Mrs. Danforth continued. "But you two are going to change things. I can feel it." She pulled them closer, as if afraid that they would float away if she let go. "You two will change things and start to fix this world proper."  


* * *

Chad only picked at his food Monday night, and did the dishes without having to be told. Later, he lay in bed, staring up at the vacant ceiling as his stomach twisted and churned inside him. He was nervous and scared, both for himself, Taylor, and Zeke, a boy he had grown up with but did not know well, and did not want to see hurt any more than Taylor.

While several other states had already put an end to segregation, the idea of equality had only just crept into New Mexico. Albuquerque, perhaps the most divided city in the state, had been chosen as the trailblazer for the demise of discrimination. Five students had been chosen from the all black West High to attend the all white East High in the upcoming school year. Chad, Taylor, and Zeke had been three of the five students – the remaining two had been withdrawn from the program at the request of their parents. When the idea had first been launched, there had been an uproar in both the white and black communities of Albuquerque. When the names of the students participating had been released, the city had seemed to dissolve into chaos.

Chad could only imagine what the first day of school would bring.

After tossing and turning, Chad managed to fall asleep late into the night. He sweated, despite the chill air, frowning as the same dream played in his head, over and over. It was the first day of school, and Chad found himself standing at the front of the building. He was searching for Taylor but couldn't find her, for the all the leaves had fallen from the trees and stuck to the crowd as if they were coated in glue. He called out to each person, shouting Taylor's name, but none of them were her, so he kept searching, growing frantic as time passed and he still could not find her. The students became more and more blurred the longer he searched, until he could no longer tell the difference between the blacks and the whites and there were only leaves, hundreds of thousands of leaves, red and gold, twisting together and falling toward the ground that had vanished from beneath his feet.


	2. Chapter 02: East

Chapter Two: East

Troy Bolton had grown up with a loving and caring family that had raised him well. He was kind, giving, smart, athletic – everything anyone could ever hope for in a son. The East Albuquerque community recognized him as their golden boy, their young champion in the realm of sports. Troy himself believed he was a well-rounded student; slightly lacking in academia, perhaps, but well-rounded all the same. Despite his disposition, however, even he could not bring himself to support the recent, if small, integration of East and West High.

"It isn't fair," he grumbled, stabbing at his lettuce with more vigor than usual. He angrily shoved it into his mouth, glaring at the bottle of salad dressing on the table as he chewed. "They don't belong here!"

"Troy, don't talk with your mouthful," his mother lightly scolded. She wore a knowing smile as she gently cut her steak. "It's one thing to talk about them – you don't need to act like them, too."

"Sorry," Troy muttered, still seething. His father let out a hearty chuckle.

"The boy's heart is in the right place," he said, "those animals don't deserve to come here and invade our schools."

"I know you're both very anxious, but could you save this kind of conversation for _after_ dinner? I feel dirty just thinking about it." Troy's mother rose from the table, plate in hand, and marched into the kitchen, two sets of eyes trained on her head.

"What if they try to join the team?" Troy asked, the moment his mother disappeared from view. Father and son turned to face each other. "What if the school board forces you to make them starters?"

"Calm down, Troy," his father answered as he, too, picked up his plate, "none of them are going to get on the team, and none of them are going to be starters. Don't worry about it."

Troy slouched in his chair as his father left the table. He was comforted by his father's words, but they didn't completely banish his state of unease. After all, if the school board could send three West High students to East High, there was no telling what else they could get away with. But Troy's father was also the head coach of the basketball team, and if he said the team was safe, then the team was going to be safe. Besides, basketball season didn't start until after winter break – Troy didn't intend to let the West High students survive that long.

The looming school year was still on his mind, however, as he attacked the night's dishes twenty minutes later. Snippets of various news stories on the television drifted in through the open doorway that separated the kitchen from the living room. He paused, soapy hands clutching the last plate, when one story in particular caught his attention.

"_... attacks on several residents of west Albuquerque ... teenagers ... east Albuquerque ... recent integration at East High ..._"

As he rinsed his plate, he wondered why anyone would bother to report such a story. No one in east Albuquerque cared what happened on the west side. He knew that the police weren't likely to put too much effort into the investigation – even if it had been something important, it was the sort of thing that happened all the time.

They always deserved it.

The sky was purple and pink when he stepped outside, the brisk air chasing goose bumps up and down his bare arms and legs. He stood at the edge of the basketball court and dribbled the ball with his right hand, _thump thump thump_. Basketball had been his way of life for as long as he could remember. It helped him calm down when he was angry and relax when he was stressed – the perfect escape.

He surged forward and dribbled up court to the single basket, jumping and landing the perfect shot. The ball swished through the ancient hoop and fell back to the grey cement. He retrieved the ball and instigated a game of scrimmage against himself, dodging and weaving through the air as if he really were playing one-on-one. He didn't stop until the sky was dotted with stars, faint beneath a thin veil of cloud, and his mother called him in from the back door. Troy carelessly tossed the ball to the ground as he migrated indoors. The ball rolled off the court and into the manicured lawn, coming to a halt in a pile of leaves that sat beneath the reaching branches of a thinning oak tree.

* * *

Her voice was shrill even as it drifted down the winding driveway. Troy reluctantly moved from behind the driver's seat of his old, rusted truck, warily eyeing the blinding patch of pink that was his girlfriend, Sharpay Evans.

"Troy!" she called again, as he made his way up to the sprawling mansion. Her feet were encased with bright, fuzzy slippers, but even then she refused to step outside of the house and into the dirt. That would be disgusting and was absolutely uncalled for. "I was so worried when you didn't show up on time!"

"But I'm only–" His words were cut off as Sharpay launched herself at him, her arms wrapping about his torso in a surprisingly strong grip. Troy was only a few minutes late, but Sharpay was... well, he liked to call it worried.

"Come in," Sharpay ordered in her sickly sweet voice, already bouncing down the long hallway, boyfriend in tow, their hands clasped tightly together. "Daddy just had the heat fixed – can you believe it was out for twenty minutes? And it's autumn! Completely unacceptable!"

Sometimes Troy wondered why he was Sharpay's boyfriend.

As he found himself being dragged up the wide staircase, Ryan appeared beside him, munching on what looked suspiciously like a snickerdoodle cookie. Troy raised his eyebrows and held out a free hand, and Ryan quickly slid a cookie into his open palm.

"Well? What do you think?"

They stood in the doorway of Sharpay's room, which looked like a bucket of pink paint had exploded inside of it and no one had bothered to clean up the mess. Troy could have believed that theory, only he was pretty sure Sharpay would have a horrendous fit if her room wasn't completely clean twenty-four hours of the day, seven days a week.

"Think of what?" Troy asked hesitantly. He peered through the open frame, trying not to wince at the sudden onslaught of girliness.

"My room, obviously," Sharpay snapped, already growing impatient. Troy stared long and hard, but he couldn't spot what the difference was. He was spared from coming up with an answer, however, as Sharpay spotted the cookie in his hand. "Troy! Is that a cookie?"

"... Yes," he answered slowly, debating whether he should shove it in his mouth before she could snatch it away, or just hand it over and be done with it.

"Do you know what cookies _do_?"

"Uh..."

"They make crumbs, Troy. _Crumbs_. I can't have crumbs in my carpet!"

"Technically, we're still in the hall," Ryan butted in. He leaned against the opposite wall with a bored expression, as if this sort of thing happened all the time. It did.

"You gave it to him, didn't you, Ryan?" Sharpay accused, rounding on her brother with a pointed, perfectly manicured finger. He shrugged. "_Ryan!_"

"Is it a crime to eat now?" Ryan argued, frowning. "There's more in the kitchen."

The majority of East High students – well, and almost anyone else that knew the Evans – believed that Ryan was nothing more than Sharpay's poodle, one that followed her everywhere and obeyed her every whim and command. In reality, Ryan was plenty able to stand up for himself, though admittedly he often fell into the role expected of him while in public; otherwise, the title of Sharpay's poodle fell to the boyfriend. Sometimes Troy resented that.

Sharpay scoffed and rolled her eyes, marching back down the stairs, blonde hair bouncing behind her as she went. Ryan shrugged and trailed after, leaving Troy alone in the hallway, cookie still in hand. He ate it in silent victory, relishing the sugar as it melted on his tongue. Through the doorway he could see out the window and into the massive lawn below. At the far end there stood a garden, in its center a large oak tree, its ancient branches reaching up and up into the cloudy sky.

* * *

"So, Troy; what do you think of the integration?"

The question surprised him. He paused, fork frozen halfway to his mouth. The others grew still as well, and he could feel their eyes on him, waiting for an answer. They sat at the large table in one of the dining halls at the Evans estate: Troy, Sharpy, Ryan, and Mr. And Mrs. Evans. Servants floated in and out of the room like ghosts, though they were far from pale; quite the opposite, actually. Mr. Evans had not bothered to wait until they had cleared the room before asking his question, though the waiter currently refilling Ryan's glass seemed not to notice. Or maybe he was stupid. Troy wasn't sure.

"You can't let it happen, Daddy!" Sharpay said at last, more to break the sudden silence than anything else.

"Hush, sweetie," Mrs. Evans gently reprimanded, "I believe your father was asking Troy for his opinion." She fixed her steady gaze on the boy in question, and he knew it would not be wise to delay in answering.

"I think it's stupid," he said at last, lowing his fork. He suddenly didn't have much of an appetite. "They don't belong at East High and never will. None of them will last longer than a few days, anyway, so it's just a waste of money."

This seemed to please Mr. Evans, for he smiled and resumed cutting his steak.

"Now there's a boy that knows what he's talking about!" he said happily, raising his glass into the air. Ryan stared glumly down at his salad, absently pushing lettuce around his plate with his fork. Troy thought he seemed uncomfortable with the conversation, but couldn't imagine why. It wasn't as if they were talking about something extremely disgusting or gory – he wasn't even sure Ryan was squeamish, anyway.

"If they want to join the team, Dad says we have to let them," Troy added bitterly, setting his fork down as gently as he could muster.

"You can fix it, right Daddy?" Sharpay pleaded, putting on her best puppy dog eyes. Troy couldn't help but smile and take up her hand in his beneath the table. "If they let those... those... _animals_ play, the team will be ruined!"

"I'm afraid there isn't much I can do, Princess," Mr. Evans said with a sigh. "I've talked to the school board but they seem more concerned with the safety of those _things_ than the dignity of our school. But don't you worry, son," he added a moment later, nodding at Troy, "I'll personally do everything I can to end this mess before it gets completely out of hand."

"Thank you, Mr. Evans," Troy said, and his smile widened. With someone so powerful and so rich on his side, there was no way the season would be ruined.

"Not a problem, whatsoever," Mr. Evans replied. He glanced at Ryan, who was still playing with his food. "It's good to know that at least some of today's youth have a bit of sense in them." Ryan seemed to sink lower in his chair, unable to look at his father.

"It just isn't right, Mr. Evans," Troy said absentmindedly. His smile faltered slightly as he watched Ryan. "It just... isn't right..."

* * *

"What's wrong, baby?" Troy's mother wrapped an arm around his shoulders, worry lines creasing her forehead beneath a wave of bangs. He sat on the couch between his parents, staring blankly ahead at the wall. The movie they were watching on TV cut to a commercial, the flickering screen coating them in a pale blue glow.

"Nothing," Troy said distractedly. His father turned away from the television set to look at him. "It's just... have you ever known someone and thought they were okay... like, a good person, you know? But then..." He paused. It had lingered on his mind since his dinner with the Evans the night before, and only now had he had time to really think it though. He wasn't entirely sure it was something he ought to be sharing just yet.

"Yeah?" his father prompted, eyebrows raised high on his head.

"But then, you know, maybe they say something, or do something," Troy continued, now motioning with his hands as he spoke, eyes still trained on the wall. "And then... then you're not so sure they're good anymore?" He finished with a question, finally tearing his gaze away to glance first at his father, then his mother, and back again.

"Is this about Jason, honey?" his mother asked gently. "Has he been making some... poor choices lately?"

"What?" Troy asked, momentarily confused, "_no!_ He's not... this doesn't have anything to do with Jason!" The two had been friends for as long as he could remember, and as far as Troy knew, the only 'poor choice' Jason had ever made was the time he had eaten an entire pizza by himself. That, however, had been years ago, and didn't really make Troy question whether or not his best friend was a good person.

"Just... just forget it," Troy said, tipping his head back and looking at the ceiling. "It was a stupid question." He could feel his parents sharing a look – they would probably talk about this later, in private – before the movie jumped back on screen. Troy tried to concentrate, but as he lay in bed, attempting to sleep, he couldn't remember what it had been about. There was only room for two things in his mind: his concern for Ryan's beliefs, and the following morning which, as far as Troy was concerned, was the end of the world. His world.

He rolled onto his side and tried to fall asleep.


	3. Chapter 03: Collision

Chapter Three: Collision

Although Chad had told himself he would be brave, he found that he could not so much as glance out the window as the bus rumbled down the road. They were in the east side of Albuquerque, but despite having ventured there few times in his life, he did not need to look to picture the sprawling houses and starch lawns lined up side by side.

The cracked, plastic seat was cold through his jeans and sweatshirt. He was sure there was no heating on this bus – the metal beast they had sent to collect the three of them was ancient, its yellow paint so faded, it appeared to be white. Taylor sat in the seat behind him, Zeke just behind her. They were near the middle of the bus, while two police officers occupied the very front and two more the very back.

Chad stared down at his legs, wishing the bus would continue on forever. He did not like being on the bus, but it beat what was waiting for them at East High. His eyes closed as the bus lurched forward again, and he found it easy to pretend that it was motion sickness making him regret eating such a large breakfast.

It was the yelling that made him lift his head and reluctantly open his eyes. A field of blinding white, in protest signs and skin, met his gaze through the dirty glass. The bus rolled to a stop before the school. Chad felt glued to his seat.

"Up."

The barked order came from one of the officers from the back of the bus; the two up front had already exited and stood on either side of the open door. Chad did as told, unwilling to give the officers a reason to attack, for he held no doubt that they would, if given the chance. His legs were stiff as he slowly walked down the aisle, eyes carefully averted to the worn floor. He was very much aware of Taylor and Zeke behind him, and the officers that trailed them.

As he stepped off the bus, ignoring the sneer of the driver, something inside him seemed to click. He could not show his fear to these people – he refused to give them even that small satisfaction. His dark eyes swept over the crowd, jaw jutted slightly forward in an expression others had come to associate with his stubborn determination.

_NEGROES HAVE GOT TO GO._

_WE WON'T GO TO SCHOOL WITH NEGROES._

_GO BACK TO WHERE YOU CAME FROM._

_KEEP OUR SCHOOLS CLEAN._

_MOTHERS AGAINST INTEGRATION._

Chad felt Taylor grip his hand. He tore his eyes away from the protest signs and saw her take up Zeke's hand as well.

"We should go inside," Taylor said quietly. Together, the three of them walked between walls of protestors and police, and through the doors of East High.  


* * *

Troy leaned against his locker as Sharpay dug through her own, searching for some cosmetic he knew nothing about. Ryan stood on Sharpay's other side, staring at the floor with a blank expression. He wasn't exactly a loud person to begin with, but he seemed quieter than usual, which struck Troy with a chord of concern. The roar of an engine and a sudden increase of volume in the crowd outside made him glance toward the door.

"The animals must be here," Sharpay said, pursing her lips as she applied a fresh layer of lipstick. She returned the tube to her locker and snapped it shut, her expression one of disgust as she looked at the front doors.

And sure enough, one of the doors creaked open and they filed in, one by one. There were three of them total, and somehow they weren't quite what Troy had been expecting. The first was a very tall boy with short hair; the second was a short girl, her hair styled into a neat bob. The third was a boy who stood somewhere in between the first boy and girl, very close to Troy's own height, with a wild mass of curls that seemed as if they would be impossible to tame.

The door fell shut and the protestors outside were muted. Aside from the six of them, the hallway was deserted, and although it was large and wide, Troy felt cramped and suffocated. It took him a moment to tear his eyes away from the intruders and realize that Sharpay and Ryan had vanished around the corner. He took one last glance at the three strangers, who now appeared to be searching for the office, and followed after the twins, catching up with them at the end of the next hallway.

"I really wish Daddy would have let you protest, Troy," Sharpay was saying as they passed classroom door after classroom door. "It isn't fair to keep you out of the action."

"He's right, though," Troy answered. He zoomed up beside her and draped his arm across her shoulders, his other hand stuffed deep in his pocket. "I mean, we can't give the administration a reason to ruin our basketball team this year. What if something had—"

"_HEY!"_

The three of them paused, startled, and turned to look behind them. There was nothing behind them, however; whoever had yelled was back in the main hallway.

"_Dude, chill!_"

"_I am _not_ going to chill!_"

"_Chad Danforth!_"

They backtracked to the main hallway, stopping short as they rounded the corner. The sight before them would have been amusing, had it been anyone else – as it were, it just made Troy more frustrated that the integration had started in the first place, and angry that whoever had thrown the eggs at the three black students had missed.

The taller of the two boys was holding the other back, the latter of which was attempting to free himself and chase after the attackers. The girl, meanwhile, was giving him _that look_, arms crossed over her chest. A smattering of egg shells, whites, and yolk surrounded them; Troy assumed that they had been thrown off the indoor balcony above. He had a sinking suspicion of who had done it, too.

"Taylor, they can't treat us like that!" the shorter of the boys was saying, waving his arm in the balcony's general direction.

"And hunting them down isn't going to fix anything, either!" the girl, Taylor, retorted. "It's what they want you to do, Chad."

"They can't get away with it!" Chad protested. He finally yanked his arm free of the other boy, but made no move to run after their assailants.

"Then we'll report it to the office," Taylor said firmly. "Look, Chad, I know it isn't right, but whatever you plan on doing about it is only going to make things worse." Chad seemed to agree, even if he didn't want to admit it, for he stalked off toward the office a moment later, a dark expression on his face.

"Come on, Zeke," Taylor said gently, and together the two of them followed after Chad.

"Jason," Troy said, the moment they were gone, and leaned against the wall. "I know it was Jason."  


* * *

The flurry that was the East High office came to a sudden halt, as Chad, Zeke, and Taylor pushed their way inside. The five secretaries glanced up simultaneously, their hatred obvious in the way their eyes narrowed and their lips curled into sneers. A phone rang and shook everyone from their silent showdown. Chad and Zeke took a few cautious steps forward, before Taylor grew impatient and strode over to the nearest desk.

"Excuse me," she began politely, managing to conjure a small smile. When she received no reply, however, the smile soon faded. "Um, excuse me?"

"Hey!" Chad said as he came up behind her. His voice startled the secretary who at last glanced up from her computer with a look of alarm. "She's talking to you."

"What do you want?" the secretary snapped, "I'm busy."

"We're new students here at East High," Taylor explained – as if that wasn't obvious, Chad thought. "We were wondering where we should go to get our schedules and lockers." The secretary glared at them before pointing a red fingernail across the room toward a door that declared 'PRINCIPAL CHAPMAN' in large, white, bold letters. Taylor thanked the woman and the three made their way over.

Taylor was the one to knock – in a way, she was the bravest of them, willing to put up with so much that neither Chad nor Zeke had the patience to withstand; where they would rather battle with fists, Taylor was all wit and pure strength.

The door opened and a tall man stood in its frame. He had a droopy face and not much hair, broad shoulders and a slight pot belly. Chad suspected that, in his prime, the man had been an athlete like himself. Principal Chapman set his eyes into a narrow glare as he looked down at them; they could feel the displeasure radiating off him like waves of heat on a warm summer day.

"Excuse me, Mr. Chapman," Taylor began again. She always knew what to say and when to say it. "We're the transfer students from West High and we were told that you could give us our –"

"Here," Chapman interrupted gruffly, shoving a stack of papers into Taylor's hands. She grabbed them just in time, clearly startled. "If you have any questions, I'm sure one of the students would be happy to help you. Now, if you don't mind, I have important work to do." He gave them one last look, one far from friendly, before promptly shutting the door with a snap in their faces.

"Well," Taylor said after a moment. She handed Zeke and Chad two pieces of paper each, one detailing their schedule, the other about their locker. "Shall we find our lockers, then?"

The three slipped out of the office and into the hall, walking close to the walls to inspect the numbers on the lockers. It took ten minutes of dodging students, who had begun to file in through the front doors, picket signs dragging on the concrete floors, and feigning deafness as insults were tossed their way, but at last they found them. The lockers were squished together in a small row in the back of the west wing, beneath the only window in the hall, which was broken and covered with black tarp and duct tape. The hall was dark and chilly – the heater overhead was covered by a thin layer of cardboard, which Taylor assumed was to keep out the dust.

It took a bit of elbow grease to pry open the rusted hinges of Chad's locker, where as Zeke's opened with no effort – or combination – required. Taylor's locker seemed fine, except for a strange sort of smell, which turned out to be the rotted remains of someone's last lunch of the previous year. Zeke kindly disposed of it while Taylor did her best to keep her breakfast in her stomach.

"Looks like we all have this Darbus lady for home room," Zeke said some minutes later, peering over Chad and Taylor's shoulders to look at their schedules.

"Well, that was nice of them," Taylor said, a faint smile playing her lips.

"Probably didn't have a choice," Chad growled. "Looks like that's _all_ we have together."

"No sense in moping over it," Taylor gently chided. She shut her locker and picked up her book bag. "We should probably get to class."

Chad and Zeke slung their backpacks over their shoulders, and the three made their way through the hallway, staring at the shoes of their new schoolmates rather than their faces.


End file.
